Marco the Friendly Ghost
by azurezury
Summary: Jean's the resident dork at a local highschool and one particularly bad day, he stumbles across a dead body. A dead body whose ghost follows Jean home. xxcoverart by lemonorangelime at tumblrxxxxau based off of lemonorangelime's headcanons of ghost!marcoxx
1. Chapter 1

He should have known that today would suck ass.

He slept through his alarm clock, forgot his homework, got in a fight with Jaeger (/again/), and earned detention.

All before noon.

Thanks to the detention for disturbing the peace, aka smack talking Eren and causing the resulting food fight in the cafeteria, Jean missed his bus and now trudged through the icy slosh on the way home. Hoping to make one good decision for today and maybe find a little peace, he decided to take a short cut through the friendly neighborhood forest.

A short cut that ultimately turned into a humiliating episode of Man versus Wild.

Covered in bird poop and hopelessly lost, Jean counted the score.

Wild: One.

Jean: Zero.

"Fuck." The air chilled around him as the sun sank down and he tried to remember the old saying to remember which way the sun set. "Was it the east or west? I'm pretty sure it was west, with the cowboys always riding west into the falling sun. Cause Japan's the land of the rising sun, and Japan's east." He paused in his thinking. "Right?"

He stumbled over a few roots and the dirt was definitely not soft. He let out a huff and pushed himself up and came face to face with the reason why his day definitely got worst.

Later, Jean would say that he did not scream like a girl. Simply yelled so loudly that his voice cracked.

A body lay before him, sitting neatly against a tree. Jean stumbled over the same roots from before and scurried back into a puddle, his heart thudding wildly in his chest. Dead bodies in themselves were not scary. Jean had viewed many an open casket of dead old relatives and wasn't bothered. But this dead boy was different.

He had to have been a guy around his age, sixteen or seventeen. He probably would have been able to give a better estimate had _half of his fucking face and torso been there. _

Jean scrambled for his phone and dialed 911.

"What's your name, location, and emergency?" A woman's voice asked.

"Jean, Rolling Hills Park, and I've found a body."

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"Thanks kid. We'll call you if we need anything else." The police officer snapped his book together and Jean drew the foil blanket around his body tighter, watching with grim interest as the body was finally removed and packed into a black bag. "You need a ride home?" The officer asked and Jean almost didn't hear him.

"N-nah, I'll be fine." He put on a brave face. The officer shrugged but nodded, leaving with the rest of the crew. Jean watched him disappear before looking back at the disturbed dirt.

They said that the body was still fresh, maybe less than a week old. Jean gulped. No doubt their town would be rocked by the death. Jean could still see the haunted look in the eye of the unidentifiable male. The cold reminded him that he was still very much alive and he turned, making sure to follow the footsteps of the cleanup crew.

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When Jean got home, the report of the body was all over the news. He groaned when he saw his disheveled self plastered all over the television and he hastily turned it off so he could concentrate on washing up for dinner. His parents didn't talk much about the subject, but his little sister pestered the shit out of him, asking him all sorts of inappropriate questions.

No, he did not touch the body. No, he didn't look to see if there were maggots in it. And he definitely did not take a selfie with the body (a move that his sister called an amateur mistake and he questioned his parents on the validity of their kinship).

Jean put the body as far away from his mind as he possibly could as he went upstairs and got ready for bed. He turned on his favorite jams and crawled under the warm covers, silently saying a prayer of thanks that he was still alive.

And a prayer for the soul of that poor bastard.

"Amen." Jean muttered with his eyes close.

"Amen."

Jean opened his eyes. Where had that second "amen" come from? Shit, maybe he was hearing things. He turned on his side, letting the music soothe him. A song switched midway and Jean's eyebrows furrowed.

"Sorry. I was just looking for something better." That was for sure another voice. Trying to be sneaky, Jean slowly reached under his pillow to grab the small Swiss army knife he kept there as protection. Once his his fist was around it, he sat up and pointed out the knife. Cold washed over him as his hand stuck through a wavy white form and his entire body froze as he stared at what was surely, impossibly, not the ghost of the dead body he found. A (whole) freckled face stared back at him, eyes wide and lips parted.

"Um," The ghost started, looking down at the hand sticking in his chest. "Sorry, but I don't think that's going to do much." The ghost gave a smile. "I bet if I had been human though, you would have killed me for sure."

For the second time that day, Jean would vehemently deny that he screamed like a girl.


	2. Chapter 2

Jean didn't believe in ghosts.

Spirits, monsters, anything like that. All of that shit was made up by Hollywood and religious freaks for money and fear mongering.

So which is why he absolutely refused to believe that the form sitting across from him in his bed was a ghost. "I'm dreaming." He nodded to himself, the knife dropping. "Has to be a dream. I'm shaken up by the dead body, so now I'm just imagining it."

The ghost frowned lightly. "I've been wandering those woods since I died." He paused. "Until you came along. Jean, right?"

"Not listening. You're not real." Jean tried to lay down again and squeeze his eyes shut. "Not real at all." A soft exasperated sigh sounded beside him. Jean slowly turned over, eye opening to peek at the not real ghost. The male floated beside his bed, hands tucked into a jacket (why the fuck was a ghost wearing a jacket? Jean thought) and a scarf floating around in his face.

Jean felt all the color drain from his face for the second (or third) time that night. "Shit, you are real." As if he hadn't been sitting there for almost five minutes with the ghost boy, Jean grasped his blanket and flung himself out of the bed and hit the hardwood floor with a 'thud'. The ghost blinked and floated over the bed and peered down at Jean's form. Jean had pulled the blanket around his head and started shouting for help. The ghost looked around, not sure why Jean needed help.

"Jean! What is going on here!?" His mother's panicked voice caused Jean to peek out from under his blanket. His mother stood there and father behind her, fingers poised on the phone to dial 911.

"There's a ghost in my room!" he hissed, looking around. His parents stared at him and then at each other. Finally, his mother bent down as his father gave a sigh and lumbered out.

"Jean, I know you must be very disturbed by what you saw tonight." His mother started gently, helping him sit up. "But honey, there are no such things as ghosts." Jean ignored her completely, looking around his now empty room.

"There was a ghost here. He was sitting on my bed and he talked to me!" Jean almost let out a whine. His mother shook her head.

"Do you want me to tuck you in?" She asked gently. "I can go get your bear down from the attic if it would make you feel better."

"What would make me feel better is getting the ghost out." He grumbled, cheeks flushing. "Besides, I'm too old for that bear." Not really, but what sixteen year old was going to admit he missed a ratty stuffed animal? He rubbed his face as his mother soothed back some hair.

"Get some rest. You have school in the morning." He climbed back in bed and she gave him a kiss on the forehead as she tucked him in. "I love you."

"Love you too." he grumbled, feeling embarrassed about saying that to his mom.

"Want me to leave the hall light on?" she asked as she headed to the door. Jean shook his head, not wanting to be further humiliated. She smiled and closed his door, leaving it faintly cracked. Jean stared up at the dark ceiling for a moment and let out a breath. Maybe he had been traumatized by the sight of a mangled dead body. He shut his eyes, hoping to dream about some hot girl and him making out.

"She seems nice."

Oh fuck.

Jean's eyes popped open and the ghost sat on his bed, legs crossed and a slight smile on his face.

"Why are you still here? Get out of my head!" He hissed. The ghost's smile faulted and somehow Jean was reminded of a kicked puppy.

"I-I thought that…nevermind." The ghost nibbled on his bottom lip. "It's just that I've been so lonely in the woods. And you seemed like a lonely fellow yourself-"

"I am not lonely. I have tons of friends." Liar liar pants definitely on fire. The ghost quirked a brow that obviously confirmed Jean's suspicion that the ghost could detect the lie.

"Anyways, I thought hey, maybe I could hang out with you until, I dunno, I move on." His lips pushed together. "Though, I really can't figure out why I'm stuck here anyways."

Jean frowned. "How do you think you're going to move on if you keep following me around?" The ghost gave a shrug.

"I thought you might be able to help me. You called the cops to come get my body after all." The male gave a smile and Jean snorted.

"Remind me next time not to do that for the next dead body I see." He paused. "By the way, what's your name?" If this ghost was going to be hanging around, then he might as well know his name.

The ghost opened his mouth then closed it, floundering for a moment. "You mean you don't know your own name?" Jean asked and looked away and Jean swore that the ghost /blushed/.

"I don't remember anything really. I just remember waking up next to my body. Once I got over the initial shock, I figured that there must be something keeping me here. I don't know what, but why else would I be a spirit instead of going where ever dead people go?" Jean supposed this made sense. About as much sense as this whole ghost business went. Jean flopped back in his bed and looked at his clock. It was nearing midnight and his mom would be dragging his ass out of bed at six a.m. sharp.

"Can we figure this out tomorrow? I need sleep."

"Sure." The ghost sat on the side of Jean's bed, linking his fingers idly. He looked over as Jean rolled onto his side, back facing the ghost. "Goodnight Jean."

"Goodnight..whatever your name is."

The ghost chuckled lightly, figuring that was good enough. Soon Jean's soft snores filled the room and the ghost took a moment to look at the mop of blond hair. He reached over to touch the locks, wanting to know if it looked as soft as he thought. His fingers misted through and the smile faded into a frown.

Being with Jean, even for just a few short hours, made him feel more alive than he had in the past week. Ha. Alive. Shaking his head, he took to exploring Jean's room, trying to be quiet as he did.

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The ripping of his blanket off of him is the start of his morning routine. Jean rolled over and pulled his pillow over his head, pointedly ignoring his mother's call for him to get out of bed. He was having the weirdest dream that some ghost was sitting in his room and talking to him all night and -

"Jean, you should probably get up. You'll be late." The gentle urging caused Jean to sit up straight. Thankfully the ghost wasn't solidified because Jean would have knocked their noggins.

"Shit, that wasn't a dream."

"You say that word a lot. You should think of enhancing your vocabulary." The ghost gave a crinkly, freckly smile and Jean ground his teeth together.

"Shut up ghost boy."

"Can I have a different name? Ghost boy isn't really that appealing." Jean looked around, trying to figure out what clothes looked clean enough to wear. Oddly enough, his room was spotless.

"I got bored last night. So I organized your room." The ghost offered helpfully as Jean got up and went to his closet, finding all of his clothes rearranged by color and style.

"How can you even lift stuff? Things go right through you!" Jean ran his fingers through his hair, suddenly having a dilemma on what to wear. He never worried about what to wear if he could just find something clean on the floor. But now he had to put actual thought into his outfits.

"Oh! I can lift inanimate objects. It's a weird ghostly power I guess." To demonstrate, Marco raised his hand and a shirt lifted from Jean's closet, followed by a pair of pants, the clothes floating to the bed and laying out neatly. "You looked like you were having trouble deciding. So I picked this out for you. Hope you don't mind."

Jean stared at the graphic tee that had a pair of wings on the back, feathers in black and white on a grey background. It was paired with some skinny jeans and Jean huffed. "Those damn skinny jeans. I stuffed them in the back for a reason." He picked them up and changed them out for a pair of faded blues with holes starting in the knees.

"I thought you might look good in them." The comment had Jean blushing. "I'm going to shower." He muttered, exiting the room to the sound of the ghost's laughing.

—-

The ghost, oddly enough, didn't follow him down to breakfast or on the bus. Maybe he was shy around other people? Or maybe he really was going crazy. He thought about the ghost's request for a name and he thought over a few. Freckles was a start, but he figured that the ghost would object to that one. As he sat on the bus, deep in thought, a paper ball nailed him in the back of the head. He turned in his seat, glaring daggers at Eren Jaeger, who sat comfortably nestled in between his friends Armin and Mikasa. The blond dork had his head buried in a book, but the narrowed eyes of Eren's adopted sister spooked him just a little bit.

"YOU! TURN BACK AROUND IN YOUR SEAT! NOW!" Bus driver Keith Shadis barked out and Jean slid back around, pulling his book bag into his lap to stifle his anger. He unzipped it and let out a curse when a freckled face stared back at him.

"Hey Jean." The ghost grinned, looking delighted over the fright he had given Jean, who sat there clutching his heart.

"KIRSCHTEIN!" Shadis yelled.

"Sorry!" Jean half heartedly apologized before looking back down at the ghostly face. "The fuck ghost boy!"

"I didn't mean to scare you. At least, not that badly."

"How did you manage to get in there?"

"Yo, Jean, why are you talking to your bookbag?" Connie's voice pestered him and Jean looked up at the bald boy on the row over.

"Cause he's a nutcase, that's why." Eren's voice called out in the back. Jean zipped up his bookbag to deter any further conversation and staring. He didn't need more people pestering him than they already did.

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"Why do they treat you like that?"

Jean was just zipping up his pants at the urinal when the voice sounded. At least this time he didn't jump out of his skin, just flushed a deep red when he saw the ghost floating behind him. "Because they know I'm better than them."

"Oh, I thought it was because you acted like a, how would you say, ass?" The ghost's words had him whipping around.

"I'm not an ass!" He defended himself. The ghost stared at him earnestly.

"I watched you all today. You're cocky and a show off. No one likes that in a person."

"Geez, I thought you were at least supposed to like me." Jean muttered, hands on his hips.

"I do. But you know, it can't be much fun just having a ghost hang around you. Don't you want other friends?" The ghost floated closer, head tilted. Jean looked away.

"Not really. I'm okay by myself." The ghost shrugged at Jean's words.

"All right then." he paused. "Will you still help me figure out why I'm still here? I guess the sooner we figure it out, the sooner I can go and you can be by yourself again." Why did that sound so shitty when the ghost said that, Jean thought.

"Yeah sure. I guess we can start at the library."

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"Can I help you - oh, hello Jean." Armin Arlert, school library aide, was more than surprised to see Jean walking into the school library. He had often pointed and laughed at Armin, calling him a nerd, geek, dork, and everything else under the sun. Armin always brushed the names off, but the words still stung sometimes. Jean looked terribly uncomfortable and he kept looking over his shoulder, muttering something under his breath.

"Um, Jean?" Armin reached out to touch Jean's arm and the taller teen jumped. "Can I help you?"

"Uh, yeah. I need a book on ghosts." Jean finally manages.

"Ghosts? Are you doing some sort of report or just casual reading?" Armin asked, hoping to help Jean narrow down the category.

"I don't know. I guess something about the behavior of ghosts or something? Like, I need to find out why there are ghosts."

"Well, different cultures have different reasoning for ghosts, but the main theme is that ghosts are the spirits of dead people who can't or won't move on from this world into the next. It is said that a ghost can appear for a variety of reasons - anger, denial, unfinished business. That's why ghosts often haunt the places they died. They're stuck in the warp with whatever's keeping their spirit anchored to the world of the living." Jean blinked as the blond rattled off. Hell, why bother reading a book when he could just talk to Armin.

"What about when a ghost can't remember anything after he died?" Jean questioned. Armin raised a brow.

"I guess maybe the memories aren't retained in the afterlife? Some scriptures say that when people die, they will leave behind their old life, unable to recognize memories from before." Armin looked down, fingers picking at his shirt. "But, I guess it could work if a ghost was able to reconnect with familiar objects, then they might remember. But that's just pure speculation on my part." he blushed, embarrassed.

"Armin, you're a-"

"Dork? Yeah, I know." The blond's sigh caused Jean to pause in his words and he looked over at the ghost's floating form, barely discernible along the wall of books. He thought about the ghost's other words and he hesitated in his sentence before saying, "Actually, I think you're pretty smart. I mean, who all would know that off the top of their head?"

Armin, expecting a barrage of cut downs, looked up at Jean quickly and suspiciously. "Really?" His voice was quiet.

"Yeah. Who knew you had so much brain in that little noggin of yours." Jean smirked and leaned over to ruffle the blond boy's hair. The blond burned brightly and smoothed down his locks.

"You're acting weird today Jean." Armin mumbled, but couldn't stop the slight smile. "Is there anything else I can help you with?" He asked.

"Yeah, I was wondering if you had any local papers. Don't they do missing persons pages or something?"

Something clicked in Armin's head. "Is this about the body you found yesterday?" Jean nodded wordlessly. "I think we have a few papers, but only from the neighboring tri-state area. Here, I'll help you look through them."

So they spent the next hour and a half searching through papers until finally Jean let out an excited shout. "Found him!" Armin rushed over to look and Jean could unconsciously feel the ghost hovering behind. "Missing: Marco Bodt. Age 16. Dark hair. Freckles. Last seen in Sina City on Sunday the 10th, entering the Three Sisters Chapel by Pastor Nick." Jean read slowly, trying to observe all the details. All he could do was stare at Marco's colored face, noticing that his freckles dotted each side of his cheeks in a boyish charm.

"How sad." Armin murmured. "So young. It's terrible, this world sometimes." Armin's grave voice cause Jean to step to the side just a little.

"Uh, right. Can I keep this?"

"Sure. Just, bring it back when you're done, okay?" Armin asked politely and Jean nodded.

"Yeah yeah." he moved to leave. "And Armin, thanks again." Jean gave a slight smile and Armin returned it with a tiny one of his own.

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"I think you may have made a new friend." The ghost, ahem, Marco pointed out offhandedly as they sat on Jean's bed. Marco looked at the paper with interest, ghostly finger tracing his face. Jean watched him.

"So your name's Marco, eh? I pegged you more for a Jack." Marco wrinkled his nose lightly. Jean thought that maybe for a second, he saw those freckles turn brown and a red flush come to the ghost's cheeks, but all too suddenly, he was that watery white again.

"Marco sounds better." The ghost closed his eyes thoughtfully. "I remember a little bit. I can remember a woman saying my name, and telling me to be careful." He opened his eyes. "I wonder if that woman is my mom. If I even have a mom."

"I'm sure you do." Jean crawled under his covers, turning off his light. But Marco continued to stare at the paper in the moonlight, his form shimmering almost.

"I'm going to bed. You can continue looking at it. We can do some online research tomorrow." Jean yawned, rolling over onto his side again.

"Goodnight Jean."

"Goodnight…Marco."


	3. Chapter 3

"Oh hey look, you have a Facebook."

Marco lifted his head from a small (and pathetically empty) photo album sitting on Jean's nightstand. "Wow, you were pretty popular." Jean's voice remarked, a hint of jealous tainting the tone. Marco drifted to look over Jean's shoulder, staring at a screen full of pictures with him and people he didn't recognize. "You must have been really big into sports." There was a picture of Marco in a soccer uniform, basketball, and baseball. "And school organizations. Let's see: Honor Society, Spanish Honor Society, Mu Alpha Theta, Key Club. Damn, is there anything you weren't a part of?" Jean looked at him almost crossly and Marco glanced away, shrugging.

"I don't know. I mean, it seems familiar." He supposed it made sense. With his friendly, approachable nature he did seem most fitted for social organizations. "Not that it really matters. I'm dead now."

"Yeah, but you were somebody." Jean murmured. Marco frowned.

"But I died a nobody." Marco reminded him gently and moved to rest a hand on Jean's shoulder. He expected his fingers to ghost through, so imagine both of their surprise when a warm hand settled on Jean's cloth covered skin. They both stared at the appendage like Marco had grown extra fingers or something. The feeling lasted for only a moment before the fingers swiped through, leaving Jean with a chill.

"I-I should get ready for school." Jean stuttered, getting up hurriedly and exiting the room. Marco watched before turning back to the computer. With a ghostly wave, he scrolled through his Facebook, looking at all the messages of his past friends, reading that they missed him and loved him. He switched to look at Jean's Facebook, hoping to see some sort of activity. All he saw were a couple of pictures and a few statuses full of song lyrics.

The real crime here wasn't Marco's death.

No, it was Jean's painfully barren existence.

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"Hey Jean." Jean glanced up from poking around his lunch to see Armin standing before him, tray in hand and smile on his face. "Mind if I sit with you today?" He asked cordially.

"Uh, sure." he glanced around, a little suspicious. "Don't you want to sit with Eren and Mikasa?" he asked. Armin shook his head.

"Nah. I sit with them all the time. I figured you could use someone to sit with during lunch with." Jean wouldn't lie- he was a little pleased over the blond sitting with him. Sure, they had been hanging out after school in the library to research ghosts and stuff, but he figured that Armin would keep it to that.

"Oy, Armin, why are you sitting with him?" Eren came up a few seconds later, Mikasa in tow. Armin tilted his head up.

"Jean looked like he could use someone to sit with. Why don't you join us?" Armin invited and Jean scowled lightly. Jaeger and him weren't exactly on speaking terms. Eren bristled too until Mikasa tugged at his shirt, whispering something in his ear.

"Fine." Eren plopped down beside Armin and Mikasa took her usual seat beside him. Silence engulfed them all for a moment before Armin finally spoke up.

"So, ah, Jean, I found some information on Marco that I thought might interest you." Armin pulled out a newspaper page labeled "Obituaries". Jean took it with a small thank you and glanced over the articles, eyes going straight to Marco's picture. "It says where he's buried. I thought you would like to go check out the gravesite, maybe dig around a little."

"I knew you were a weird fuck, but don't be dragging Armin into this." Eren growled and Jean crumbled the paper in his hands.

"Shut up Jaeger, this is none of your damn business!"

"To hell it isn't! Whatever you're planning to do, you can forget Armin-"

At that moment, a piece of Jean's mashed potatoes found its way into Eren's face. Jean stared at the sight of gravy covered Jaeger before bursting out into laughter, remarking at how stupid Eren looked. Eren retaliated a second later with chocolate pudding that went up Jean's nose.

A few seconds later, the entire cafeteria was in mass chaos.

Food was flying everywhere. Jean scrambled behind a table with the trio, their own fighting forgotten as everyone else joined in. Jean peeked his head over the top and was rewarded with a face full of sloppy joe, courtesy of Connie and Sasha from the row over. Eren laughed until ice cream lodged itself in his ear, good aim coming from a smirking Annie. Poor Bertl though was a mess, unable to really crouch behind an overturned table, though Reiner did an excellent job of trying to shield him with a lunch tray.

The noise in the lunchroom was a dull roar until the doors slammed open, a booming voice yelling, "WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?!"

All eyes turned and food dropped from frozen fingers as Vice Principal Levi stalked in, trailed closely by Principal Erwin. "Aah- Levi, I was just coming to get you…" Hanji, the resident science teacher, stood up, brushing some scattered rice off a stained blazer.

"For the love of, don't tell me you were participating in this!" Hanji turned smeared glasses eyes away, fingers twiddling lightly. "Who started this!?" He demanded, looking completely unamused despite Principal Erwin hid his smile behind a clenched fist in what was supposed to be a thoughtful and intimidating look.

All the students looked around and Jean quickly turned eyes to Eren, expecting the other to rat him out. And for a second, Eren thought about it. But, he had to give it to Jean. No one had ever been gutsy enough to start a food fight, despite it being on the top ten list of every student's bucket list. "Oh, so no one's going to take the blame for this?" Levi snarled, fingers clenching. "Fine. Until someone confesses, you will all be forced to stay here and clean up. And after that, you will all write a ten page essay on why you should not start food fights. After that-" A chorus of groans echoed in the cafeteria and Jean bit his lip. He didn't want to get in trouble himself, but a small voice inside his head was telling him that this was a golden opportunity to show that he could be a considerate person and that by saving the rest of the students, he'd boost his image considerably.

Wait. That wasn't his inner voice saying that.

Jean glanced down at his overturned book bag and saw a pair of honey gold eyes staring at him. Damn it Marco. He should have known. With a deep sigh, he stood up. Levi's eyes instantly zeroed in on him. "I started the fight." Jean mumbled. In a second, the short man stood in front of him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear that." Oh, Levi definitely heard it. He just wanted to hear it again. Jean let out an impatient noise.

"I said, I started the fight. Punish me. Not them."

Satisfied, Levi turned his eyes to the rest of the student body. "All of you, get your disgusting selves out of here and back to class. If any of you go hungry, then it's your own damn fault." Levi turned his eyes back to him. "You. You'll be cleaning up this mess by yourself."

"Uh, sir." Levi and Jean turned to see Eren standing up, looking guilty. "I started it too. I returned fire."

"Fine. You both can clean up this mess." Levi's eyes looked down at the covered Mikasa and Armin. "Arlert, Ackerman. Were you two involved as well." Mikasa gave a curt nod and Arlert squeaked as a confession. Levi let out scoff. "You four are on clean up duty for the rest of the week. Give our janitors a break." With that he turned on his heel and walked back to Principal Erwin. "We'll discuss your punishments afterwards." He called out. Erwin simply gave them a wink and turned to follow his vice principal out, commenting that they were all just kids and that he remembered the chaos Levi had caused when he was their age. A simple "fuck you" was all that Levi responded with.

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"This sucks ass." Jean grunted as he lifted himself up off sore knees. Finally, the place was spotless. After they cleaned it for the third time. Granted, it had been spotless the first time but vice principal Levi disagreed.

"Yeah. Worth it though." Eren smirked, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Never figured you'd be the one to start a food fight."

"Well, maybe if you actually got to know me then this wouldn't be much of a surprise." Jean tossed a bucket at Eren, who caught it deftly.

"Maybe if you didn't act like such an arrogant son of a bitch then I would hang out with you more!"

And just like that, the two settled into another round of bickering, though this time there were smirks instead of scowls.

Marco sighed from his spot in the rafters, a slight grin on his own face. A little unconventional, but Jean required the big guns. He remembered a flashback of himself, sitting in a school cafeteria, scrubbing floors with the members of a soccer team as they laughed about the own fight they had caused. For a second, Marco's form solidified and he inhaled sharply, the cold blast of air in his real lungs a shock to the senses. He faulted on the beam and fell, a yell echoing.

"Hey, did you guys hear that?" Armin asked, looking around. The other three glanced around the large room, the haunting echo chilling all of them.

"Guess it was just the wind…" Jean rubbed the back of his neck, thinking that he had heard Marco. But he saw no sign of the ghost. Shaking his head, he got back to work with the others.

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Marco wasn't in his room when Jean finally got home that afternoon, after serving detention with the trio of friends. He frowned but thought nothing of it. Maybe he was off doing ghostly things.

Whatever ghostly things were.

He logged on his computer and saw that he had several friend requests on Facebook and a little bit of giddiness filled him.

"Have a good day at school?" Marco's voice comforted him rather than scared him. Jean looked around to see the ghost sitting on the window seat, burrowed in his jacket, a small smile peeking out from his scarf.

"As if you don't know." Jean smirked. A minute passed. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. I knew it was a long shot, but I had just a sliver of hope."

"What gave you the idea anyways?" Jean asked.

"Oh, a memory." Jean shook his head, going through his friend requests.

"Hey, there's a friend request from you. I didn't know ghosts had Facebook." Jean teased. Marco drifted over.

"Hush. I had a flashback that contained a memory of me logging in. I'm having a lot of flashbacks lately." Jean accepted the request and immediately moved to snoop around on Marco's page. "I was wondering…" Marco started.

"Yeah?" Jean found himself smiling fondly at the pictures of Marco, looking so happy and full of life.

"I was wondering if you could take me back to my home. I don't remember where it's at exactly, but I figured we could find it. I wanted to see my parents. One last time." The mood instantly sobered. Jean nodded.

"Of course. We'll go this weekend."

That night, Jean dreamed of his parents and what would happen if he never saw them again. He woke up with a start, sweat pouring down his face.

"Jean, you okay?" It was his mother's voice that directed his attention. She sat on his bed, looking worried. "You were crying and yelling in your sleep." Without getting an answer, the woman found Jean throwing his arms around her and pushing his head into her neck.

"Mom, I know I don't tell you and dad this enough. Or that little alien that I call as sister either. But I love you guys. If something happened to you, I don't know what I'd do. And if you guys died without knowing that I loved you, I'd hate myself forever." Jean tried not to cry, but he did anyways. His mother smiled and held her son tight, stroking his hair soothingly.

"I know you love us Jean, and we love you too. Never forget that." Jean nodded, finally feeling some peace within him. "Would you like for me to sing you to sleep?"

Jean hadn't been sung to sleep in ages. He nodded, letting her tuck him into the covers as she began to sing softly, her soothing words helping ease him back to sleep.

Marco sat in the closet, leaning his head against the wall, surrounded by Jean's scent. Jean's mother had a beautiful voice and he closed his eyes, imagining that it was his mother instead. For the first time in almost two weeks, Marco drifted to sleep, hot tear stains trailing down his cheeks, revealing freckled brown skin in their wake.


	4. Chapter 4

"So...this is my grave?"

Jean stood a little ways away as Marco floated over to the simple tomb marker. "Marco Bodt: Cherished Son." Marco murmured, eyebrows furrowed. "It's funny, you know, that life is reduced to nothing but a dash between numbers." Marco's serious expression caught Jean off guard and Jean looked away.

"Yeah. I guess." Talk about awkward. He pulled his coat closer, frowning when a few snowflakes drifted down onto the brown patch of grass. He didn't want to disturb Marco's moment but Jean was still very human and affected by the elements. "But you know," Jean started. "It's about what you did between those numbers that counts, right?" Marco paused before turning and giving him a smile.

"Yeah." The ghost drifted closer to Jean as if to help keep him warm. "C'mon, let's get you somewhere warm." Jean glanced around, his eyes falling on the church about two blocks away.

"I guess I can thaw out there." He pointed and the two scurried off as the snow started to drift down heavier. By the time Jean reached the doorsteps to the church the snow blanketed the ground and showed no sign of stopping. He entered the quiet chapel, shaking off his jacket and glancing around. Jean let out a low whistle at the expanse of glass mosaics and candles flickering around the entire place. "Fancy." he remarked, looking over to where he thought Marco might be. A frown crossed his face when he didn't see the ghost boy but a voice distracted him soon enough.

"Can I help you?" Jean jumped and glanced at the front of the church, where a priestly looking man stood in all black. Jean let out a nervous chuckle. Something about those beady eyes gave him the creeps.

"Uh, I was just um...drying off and warming up."

The man gave a smile and Jean felt his skin crawling. "Please, come up here by the candles and warm up." Jean wanted to stay right there or better yet, take his chances out in the snow. Nodding he ambled up the aisle. "I'm Pastor Nick, leader of The Three Sisters Chapel. I've never seen you around here before."

"Yeah. I live...not here in town. I was just visiting a friend." Jean kept his eyes averted, biting down on his cheek when Pastor Nick got a little too up close and personal for his liking.

"Oh? Perhaps I know them?"

"The Bodts..." Jean let the name slip. He felt the good Pastor stiffen behind him before moving away.

"Oh, yes. The Bodts. Regulars here. You must be here to pay your respects to Marco." Pastor Nick studied Jean a little more closely now. "Though, you do look familiar...Are you sure I haven't seen you somewhere?"

"Nope. Never been here in my life." Jean nodded. "Listen, I should get going-" A hand grabbed his shoulder and Pastor Nick pulled him around so they stared face to face.

"I know you from somewhere..." Pastor Nick's eyes seemed to sear into his soul and Jean found himself backing up in an attempt to escape. A vase and cup knocked over and Pastor Nick turned, releasing Jean and allowing him to retreat back towards the entrance. "Come back here!"

Jean burst out of the church and into the thick snow, chest heaving. He stumbled down the steps and onto the sidewalk, clutching his coat closer as he quickly walked along. He grunted when he hit something solid and only a pair of steady hands kept him from completely falling over.

"Hey, are you all right?" Jean thought for a second that Pastor Nick had gotten him but a pair of warm brown eyes made him pause.

"Marco?"

xXxXxXxXxXx

"Thanks again for letting me inside your house." Jean curled up by the warm fire, giving a smile as the woman named Martha handed him a cup of hot chocolate.

"Anything for a friend of Marco's." The woman smiled and Jean could see the resemblance of Marco on her dark freckled face.

"Say, how did you two know each other again?" Marcus, Marco's father (whom Jean thought was an exact replica of the dead boy sans freckles), asked.

"We were online pen pals." Jean supplied easily, the hot chocolate almost burning his tongue.

"And you're the one that found Marco, right? I remember seeing you on the news station...before we knew it was Marco." Martha sat down by her husband, a picture frame in her hand. Marcus put a comforting hand on his wife's shoulder, rubbing it lightly.

"Yeah..." Jean looked down at the murky cup. "I didn't realize it at the time. I mean...I hardly recognized him."

"Us too. When we went to confirm the body-" The woman choked up lightly. She took in a deep breath. "I knew that something was wrong that night. A mother knows when something happens to her baby." Jean settled into silence, not wanting to fuck things up with his stupid words.

xXxXxXxXxXx

Marco lingered in the corner of the room, the space where his heart should be positively aching. He could see the glimmer of tears on his mother's cheeks and the cracking mask on his father's face. What he wouldn't give to hug them both one last time, to give his mother a kiss and tell her "it'll be all right".

Unable to take the onslaught anymore, he drifted up the stairs, letting instinct lead him. He slid through a closed door easily, feet sinking into plush carpet of a well decorated but obviously unused room. Unfamiliar objects surrounded him - trophies, pictures, stupid little knick knacks. Each had a memory he figured. He glanced over a photo collage, a faint smile coming over at the sight of him standing with unknown faces without a care in the world.

The bed sat neatly made, smelling of fresh detergent. The only thing that looked undisturbed was his pillow. He bent down closer, ghostly fingers running over the indention. Definitely not his head. The green fabric had dark smears at eye level and his heart absolutely shattered at the realization.

His mother probably spent many nights crying herself to sleep in his bed. Unable to contain it any longer, Marco let out a broken sob, hands flying to his face as he tried to stem the tears. Memories that had only trickled in before now flooded his head. Memories of his friends goofing off like regular kids, memories of nights spent with his parents around a table of home cooked goodness and laughter, memories of dreams and desires, of growing up and making something of himself.

For once, Marco wished that he had died normally. Because this...this was worse than any death. He'd rather be killed a thousand different ways than spend one more minute mourning what he had lost.

xXxXxXxXxXx

Because the train was mostly empty as Jean rode home that evening, Marco sat beside the teen. Both of them were quiet, heads tilted down. In Jean's lap sat a warm container of brownies ("Marco's favorite- double fudge with almonds.") and the sweet words of Marco's mother in his ears ("Don't be a stranger Jean. Please come back and visit.")

Jean wondered briefly if Marco's parents were hoping to find a replacement son in him. From what they had told him, Marco's friends had slowly disappeared after the funeral and leaving the Bodts with a thin support system.

"Your folks are nice." Jean casually looked over at the ghost.

"Yeah. I remember them clearly now. My dad and me practicing baseball in the summer with mom making lemonade."

"Damn. Sounds like the scene from a cheesy movie or something." Marco's lips quirked in a smile and Jean felt his heart lift a little. "It makes sense though. You're so perfect." Jean could see a tint of red coming across Marco's cheeks. "How are you doing that?" Jean asked, leaning closer to where they were nose to nose.

"Doing what?" Marco responded softly, Jean's close presence making his soul feel light. Well, lighter than it already was.

"You've got color on you." Jean reached up and tried to touch his cheek. Both of them let out a silent breath when Jean's palm cupped warm flesh.

"I don't know..." Marco's words faded as the two drew closer. Chapped lips met soft ones for a brief moment before they both pulled back. Jean's face was entirely red but he didn't have time to contemplate the fact that he just kissed a ghost. Instead, he stared openly at Marco's solidified form. Marco turned over his hands in amazement, feeling the rush of blood course through him and a heartbeat pounding in his ears. "What the-"

As soon as the moment came it faded and Marco stared at the floor through his hands.

"What just happened?" Jean asked breathlessly.

"I'm not sure." In regards to either events really. Jean gulped and turned away, silence overtaking them both again.

xXxXxXxXxXx

"I knew it. He's the one that found the body." Pastor Nick scowled at the papers with Jean's face plastered all over them. "What was he doing here?" he tossed the papers in the trash bin. For a moment, he worried that his secret got out. He stepped into the altar room, making sure to lock the door behind him. With ease he lifted up the top of the wooden altar and removed the false bottom. Preciously packed stacks of top grade powder sat undisturbed and he let out a breath.

Stupids kids. All he needed was another nosy brat.

Locking everything up, Pastor Nick slipped out of the room and made sure all the deadbolts were locked before he slipped the key back into his robes.

After all, golden decorations and silver trays didn't come cheap.


	5. Chapter 5

_Fear burned like hot acid in his throat as he darted through the dark hallway, the sound of yelling spurring him on. He had to get out of here and get help. _

_"Someone stop him! He's seen too much!"_

_The footsteps were drawing closer and he stumbled over his feet, falling to the floor with a painful thud. He scrambled, digging his nails into the wood in a bid to gain purchase and lift his body up and away. Strong fingers circled his ankles and he let out a scream as he was pulled back into the darkness. _

"Marco? MARCO!"

The yelling caused Marco to wake with a jolt. Jean knelt over his form, tired eyes strained with worry. For a moment Marco thought he was back in his own body and he leaned up, arms reaching up to wrap around Jean. Instead he just floated through, causing Jean to shudder as the cold form drifted through him.

"S-sorry…" Marco muttered, still visibly shaking as he floated around the room in his attempt to pace.

"You were yelling, saying 'Someone help me- for the love of God, someone help me.'" Jean sat on the edge of his bed, brushing fingers through his hair. The screams still echoed in his ears, an almost blood curling sound. "What were you dreaming about?" Jean asked softly after a moment. Marco paused in his floating by the window, the moon shining through him and casting a faint inverted shadow on the floor.

"I-I don't know. Men chasing me. Someone saying I've seen too much." Marco closed his eyes and inhaled lightly. "I remember smelling something burning. Maybe incense? Last thing was someone grabbing my ankles and pulling me."

"Do…do you think it might be something to do with your murder?"

Marco didn't answer for a long time. Finally, he nodded. "I think so." His form flickered for a moment. "But everything is still pretty hazy. I couldn't see any faces." /Or remember the killing blow/ he added silently.

Jean let out a yawn and crawled back into his bed. "Why don't you come lay down with me for a little bit? Well, I guess you could float on top of the sheets or something. But don't go back into the closet. It might make you have more nightmares." He pulled the covers over his body in an attempt to warm up.

Marco drifted over and crawled on top of the bed, a thin layer of space between him and the actual blanket. Jean's breathing evened off and Marco turned to watch him sleep. The nightmare slowly faded away as he memorized the little details of Jean's face. Like how his eyebrows furrowed and his nose wrinkled as he dreamed. A gentle smile crossed his face.

He didn't know what he was going to do when he finally moved on and left Jean.

0o0o0o0o0o0o00o0o0

Jean really wanted to be anywhere but here. Here being the place where he first discovered Marco's body. But the ghost insisted so here he stood in the freezing ass forest, wrapped up tight in layers with three hats shoved on top of his head and two scarves wrapped around his neck that threatened to cut off his air.

"Marco, they cleaned the scene up when they took your body. If there was any evidence, they took it." Jean groused as the ghost floated over the pristine snowy spot. Even though Marco waded around ankle deep, his form hardly disturbed the snow.

"But what if they missed something. Police miss things all the time. That's why so many murders go unsolved."

"Marco have you been watching those late night cop shows?" Jean quirked a brow and the ghost tightened his shoulders slightly before letting out a laugh.

"Yeah." Marco turned towards him. "But that still doesn't mean we could stumble upon something."

So they continued to stomp around for several more minutes until Jean said, "No disrespect, but why couldn't you have died in the spring or something? It'd be a hell of a lot warmer."

"Jean," Marco put his hands on his hips. "If I had died in the summer, I would have been a rotted, bloated body full of maggots." At Jean's gagging, Marco gave a satisfied grin. While Marco went back to looking around, Jean shuffled over to the tree that he found Marco's body slumped against. He half heartedly dug around with his foot, not intending on finding anything. When he felt the crunch of something solid under his foot he decided to investigate.

"Hey Marco," Jean's quiet voice causes the ghost to turn around from floating half way up a tree. "Look."

Marco's eyes zero in on the red rosary. It's broken but only a few beads seem to be missing.

"Pastor Nick."

The memories come rushing in like a whirlwind and Marco gasped out as pain wracked his body - like lightning shooting through him, searing every nerve as his ethereal body glowed. Jean cried out Marco's name and attempted to step towards the ghost, but the blinding light made him stagger back and shield his face.

After what seemed like an eternity the light slowly dimmed and Jean lowered his arms, eyes going wide. There was at least a ten foot radius of broken trees and displaced snow that looked like a sonic boom occurred right where Marco was standing.

Keyword being was.

Jean scrambled out of the snow pile and into the small clearing, scratching at the dirt. "Marco? MARCO!?"

His cries echoed through the wooded area, disturbing the birds and causing them to scatter in the wind. Jean knelt in the dead grassy center, fingers full of dirt as tears streamed down his face.

"Marco…"

0o0o0o0o0o0o00o0o0

"I'm worried about Jean…"

Jean rolled over and muffled the sound of his mother's voice outside of the hallway. He half expected (and half hoped) that Marco would be waiting there, staring at him from the closet with that freckly smile. Nope. Only the sight of disorganized clothes falling from hangers.

Two days had passed since Marco's disappearance, or more likely, his moving on and Jean felt like he had just lost his best friend from childhood. Marco had become a constant in Jean's life and not having him around made him feel…empty.

So the only logical response was to mope around the house.

He pulled a pillow to his chest, closing his eyes and imagining what Marco would say if he saw him sitting here looking like a kicked puppy. He'd probably laugh at him and then tell him to get over himself. They both knew this day was coming so why was it such a big deal? Maybe because Marco had been the closest thing to a best friend Jean ever had. Sure it was a stretch (the two only knew each other for a limited amount of weeks) while best friends were formed over the years.

But something about Marco filled the void in Jean's life like only a best friend could. Marco looked without judging him for his crass and abrasive attitude. He laughed at his stupid jokes and conversed seriously with him.

Marco had also given him hope. Hope that he wouldn't spend the rest of his miserable existence without any friends.

Funny now that he had a.._what had Marco called it again?_ plethora of friends, the only one he wanted was dead. Dead for real this time.

Jean blinked his eyes furiously in attempt to stem the tide of tears. Blurry vision landed on the broken rosary and he remembered those last few moments of Marco's existence, the shock of realization on his face.

"Pastor Nick…" He muttered, teeth clenching. The damn pastor.

It might be too late to save Marco, but Jean would be damned if he let that creepy old bastard ever ruin anyone's life again.

Jean grabbed the necklace and his coat, throwing it on and flying down the stairs, simply yelling to his parents that he would be back later.

0o0o0o0o0o0o00o0o0

Pastor Nick almost dropped his candle lighter as the double doors burst open. He whipped around, surprised to see the kid from earlier stalking down the aisle.

"You killed him!" Jean yelled, fist shaking with a worn rosary hanging from his fingers. Pastor Nick grabbed at his chest, cursing. He thought he had simply lost that damn thing around the church. "You killed Marco Bodt! You killed him and you dumped his body in the woods to be eaten!" The teenager was screaming full force. "I'm going to turn you into the authorities but not before I beat the shit out of you for killing Marco!"

The pastor instantly realized that the teen was so blinded by his own fury that he was bound to mess up. Pastor Nick backed up, hands reaching behind him to grab an iron rod. "Lower your voice child, this is a place of worship." He stated calmly.

"A place of worship?!" Jean let out an almost hysterical laugh. "You've murdered someone yet you still consider yourself holy?" The teen launched himself at Pastor Nick. The two went crashing into the display as Jean landed a couple of hits before Pastor Nick threw him off. Jean rolled, trying to gain some ground. Screw the thought of trying to take Nick on for himself, Jean thought. All he wanted to do now was get out and get the authorities. A hand grabbed onto his ankle and pulled him back. Jean looked back with widening eyes as the metal rod raised up, preparing to strike.

A whoosh caught their attention and both of them watched the velvet drapes go up in flames from the knocked over candles. "You idiot!" Pastor Nick yelled, fist tightening on the rod. He struck at Jean's kneecaps and Jean let out a blood curling scream as he felt the bones shatter. Jean attempted to drag himself along the floor with his hands and elbows but a shattering beam from the fire dropped in front of him. The heat blasted his face and he shrank back, trapped between two evils.

Pastor Nick loomed above him, his face overshadowed by the towering flames behind him. He held the iron rod up again, sharp end pointed towards Jean's chest.

In that moment, Jean knew he was going to die.


End file.
